


Bekehrung/转变

by eggdumpling



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Author Is Not Religious, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt, Episode:s07e03 Zenana, Hope i didn't miss any tag, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religious Discussion, Season 7 Spoilers, Translation works, poor Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23310574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggdumpling/pseuds/eggdumpling
Summary: Translation of work from @FrigiditaetWomen whisk by him with their vetoes, and he remembered his confession to Trewlove, “If I meet the right person, nothing matters.”Ludo watched with pity as the man’s sorrow fermented with drugs and alcohol, lacerating his own soul. He cupped his hands to scoop up the vulnerable man’s scattered ego. Between the rubbing sound of the fabric the fraud bowed his head, tearing down the buttons from the Morse’s shirt with his hands and teeth.“I told you, you seemed a man of refinement. Of great taste." he sighed, "It seems I was correct right from the beginning.”An AU from S07E03. Descriptions of drug use, non-con, religion discussion and OOC.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Ludo Talenti
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Bekehrung/转变

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Bekehrung/转变](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23052868) by [Frigiditaet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frigiditaet/pseuds/Frigiditaet). 



> Writer's note: We need more fics about Ludo. He's such a cute doggo and he fucks with poor Morse (literally and figuratively)
> 
> Translator's note: The translator is unable to conduct the fullness and the tension of our three characters in this prompt. Honestly Talentis stop fighting for Morse already.

“Sorry, I should have called [1].” Ludo said as he entered. He seemed out of sorts, but he carried a expensive bottle of wine just as usual.

[1] Opening scene from the original show. Lines do not belong to me.

He handed the bottle to Morse, who mumbled “thank you” while looking at the label on the bottle.

“Is everything okay?” Morse asked as he opened the bottle. Ludo always looked elegant and easy-going, but today the corners of his eyes were drooping and his hair was a mess. Guilt climbed up Morse's back – did he discover anything? No, he couldn’t have.

Ludo took the glass filled with wine, swirled it with his hand, and watched the bodied alcohol climb up its wall. “Can you change to a better piece of music?” He plunged into the sofa, asking pitifully.

Morse was surprised his injured tone, and he responded in caring haste, “Of course, what do you want to listen?” He removed the stylus from the record player and turned to search in his records. “‘La Traviata’ from ‘54 we mentioned last time? You said you haven’t heard it... ”

“Oh, of course.” Ludo bent down slightly, flickered his wrist above the detective’s glass somewhere he couldn’t see.

Music flowed softly from the record player. Morse turned back to the sofa and asked, “So, what’s going on? What happened?”

“Oh.” Ludo took a sip and stood up and paced in the room. “You’re my friend, aren’t you? I mean, I like to think so.” He added.

“I need your help.” He sighed and frowned. “Advice.”

Morse turned to him, struggling pull off a unrepentant smile. “About what?”

“My wife. It’s mad, I know.” Ludo’s eyes were slightly red. “But she... these past few months... I think she’s seeing someone.” He sighed.

Morse lowered his head and drew a cigarette from the pack. “What... gives you reason to think that?”

“She’s been... I don’t know.” Morse lit the cigarette with a lighter in Ludo’s melancholic voice. “But since we gone back from Monte, something has changed.”

Morse forced himself to ignore huge tell and offered weak suggestions. “But you were in Antibes over summer. How was that?” Even the sergeant himself did not believe that they would find any useful information from it.

“Twin beds.” Ludo took a sip, his expression at a loss, “She said I snore... I don’t snore.”

“Well, have you spoken to her about it?” Morse quickly answered, hoping to pass the buck.

“I’m afraid.” His friend sighed again, staring straight at him with sad eyes, and stepped closer. “What does one say?”

Morse raised his eyebrows sadly and twisted them, avoiding the other man’s eyes. “Oh, I’m afraid I’m… I’m the last person you should ask about this.” He looked up and smirked.

He broke into a proper marriage. Ecstatic, helpless, or guilt-ridden, but not regretful.

“Indeed,” Ludo’s answer was out of Morse’s expectation. A glint of green light flited through his eyes.

The doorbell rang.

Ludo went ahead and opened the door. Morse rubbed his face in the room, took a few draws on the cigarette, and sipped from his glass. Then he heard the sound of high heels clicking on the ground. He froze.

“Darling,” a soft female voice come from the door.

By the time the Talentis joined in again, Ludo looked less uncomfortable. He straightened his collar, brushed back his hair, revealing the confidence and leisurely pace that Morse was familiar with, holding an enticing woman in his hands. He even smiled.

Morse did not speak.

The two sides remained deadlocked until Ludo broke the ice. “A toast, I think. What shall we drink to? Friendship? Love? Fidelity?” He raised the glass he was still holding, shed the mask of a heartbroken man, and addressed the detective with the gesture of a victor. Morse stroked his own glass as his blood froze.

“You’re not drinking.” Ludo took a sip and looked at him in doubt.

Morse didn’t move. He didn’t know if he could say anything to veil his sin.

The other man chuckled, looked at Violetta, and slowly went through his speech. “I was visiting a friend at the Swedish embassy. He had to take a meeting with the Minister of Meatballs, or whatever it might be. So I thought, as I had time to kill, I’ll call you. ”He explained the ins and outs, his voice playful and ironic, the former dispirited look nowhere to be found. “But I am afraid I told a white lie.”

“Oh, yes?” Morse heard himself asking.

“I told the officer at Castle Gate that I was a Swedish policeman, who needed to speak to you as a matter of some urgency.” Ludo shook his head, slowing down and stressing thoughtfully as if he was telling the children a bedtime story, “They gave me a number where I could reach you.”

“Only, I was puzzled...” Ludo spoke slowly as if worried that the sergeant could not comprehend, but Morse could hardly stand listening already. “... because it was a number I recognized.”

“What was my wife doing at the end of a telephone number, where I believed I could find you… and at an address known to me?”

Morse looked to Violetta for help, hoping she could come forward, but the woman said nothing. She held Ludo’s arm tightly, staring at a small pit in the floor tile.

“I went home and told her this affectionate story, and she was obviously moved.” Ludo ignored the detective’s stupid move and continued his monologue. “So we decided to let go of our prejudices, talk to each other, and finally bury the hatchet. I kindly proposed probing you one last time, perhaps there was a misunderstanding we did not pick up. I’m sorry, ”he spread his hand.“ According to what you just did, no confession, no remorse. You have gone too far. Morse.”

He gestured Violetta to start her solo.

She stepped aside and finally looked at Morse.

“I don’t love you.” She spoke into Morse’s earnest and eager eyes.

Morse caught the chill at the tip of his fingertips.

“I don’t feel anything from you. Never.” The provocatrix’s gaze locked on him tightly. She shook her head lightly, coaxing him the same way Ludo did.

“It was a mistake.” And she left.

Morse stood still as a statue. After a long pause, he swallowed the clear liquid remaining in the glass in one go.

The Talenti stared at him at the other end of the room. In the dim room, everything seemed so aerial, as if it were just a fictional scene, as if everything could go back a few months, when nothing happened. The wallpaper shovelling progress unchanged, the paint marks on the floor unwashed, and the glass bottle Ludo brought when he came first over still in the kitchen. Except for a small reading lamp in the corner and a weak ceiling lamp, there was no light sources in the room.

Violetta turned and walked away in the chanting La Traviata. Ludo was still folding his arm, leaning against the door frame and watching the detective.

“No.” He made a muffled sound from his throat.

This was probably the first time he refused to see the truth. But Ludo’s dangerous gaze, motor sounds of Violetta’s leaving vehicle, and the La Traviata in the record player reminded him that something irreversible has happened.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled into the empty corridor.

He felt the world spin slightly, the way a giant baby cradle would shake. He couldn’t control his thoughts, and now it seemed that he can’t control his body either.

Ludo ambled his way, “No, I’m the one to say sorry now,” his old classmate said softly. His arms caught the staggering detective. Morse’s eyelids were open, but his eyes were out of focus. The con artist tried to grip Morse and help him take a few steps forward, but the perplexed man’s limbs were stiff, like a broken puppet. He had to change his strategy and drag Morse towards the bedroom.

By the time Morse found his consciousness, he was already lying on his own twin bed. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but what was supposed to happened had already happened. He couldn’t breathe freely. Every time he drew in the air, his chest felt sore, overwhelming his heart. Breathing is no longer an integral part of his life, because pain is driving him to his death. Ludo seemed to have just dropped him on the bed, the man’s arms still beside him.

“Thank you.” He muttered a word with incredible difficulty and naivety. Soon after, grief clenched him, blackening his vision. 

The woman who let his guard down defeated him inside his armour. All that was amidst the giddy whirl was the four sentences she left him: I don't love you. I don’t feel anything from you. Never. It was a mistake. Then these four sentences were spoken by different voices: Violetta; Claudine, the one that did not say goodbye; Joan, the one he let slipped; Monica, the one he disappointed; Alice, the one that passed by; Susan, the one that turned and left. Claudine said, “It's just sex, not love.” Joan told him that it was too late. Monica was astonished when she heard that he was leaving. Alice relentlessly took back the opportunity. Susan and him were strangers now, layered with new scar.

I don’t love you. I don’t love you. Hundreds of thousands of times.

Women whisk by him with their vetoes, and he remembered his confession to Trewlove, “If I meet the right person, nothing matters.”

Ludo watched with pity as the man’s sorrow fermented with drugs and alcohol, lacerating his own soul. He cupped his hands to scoop up the vulnerable man’s scattered ego. Between the rubbing sound of the fabric the fraud bowed his head, tearing down the buttons from the Morse’s shirt with his hands and teeth.

“I told you, you seemed a man of refinement. Of great taste." he sighed, "It seems I was correct right from the beginning.”

Morse tried to push him away in the midst of bewilderment, but his weak arms only made it look like he wasn’t making an effort to defend himself. Ludo leaned against his chest and made Morse's arms dangle around his neck. Morse wanted to pull his arm back, but his biceps failed to gather the strength.

While unbuttoning the detective’s shirt, Ludo also tightened his tie around his neck. But the lanky man did not put up a fight, he did not try to breathe. Countless voices whispered in his ears; choruses, solos, countless versions of himself sang amid and spurned him in disgust, ceasing his ribs from stretching. When Ludo bit the side of his neck, he gasped violently, before feeling heavier stones were placed on his chest. He shed tears senselessly trying to curl his body, but Ludo was pressing on him.

“It is truly art.” The old classmate sighed and kissed Morse's chest passionately. He yanked off Morse's belt. Except for his squirming lips, the laying man made no response. Ludo sat up and pulled off his trousers, leaving Morse’s arms to slide down and hit the sheets. The detective, suddenly losing another source of heat, flinched in the cold air.

“I'm back.” Ludo teased him, and leaned back down again, messing with the British. Morse could only moan and quiver to his touch and tease. He couldn't conduct his limbs, even his extremities and organs were betraying him. His rationality was ripped apart by the raging consciousness, while the consciousness fled the body leaving him with an unyielding dull pain.

The self-proclaimed worldling seemed very satisfied, his fingers encircled Morse's nipples, in exchange for the other party's startled wrenching.

“‘Dogged pursuit of beautiful woman’, that’s what I said.” Ludo gnawed on his collarbone and his self-control. “Now I'm must correct it -- ‘dogged pursuit of beautiful man.’” The businessmen admired his masterpiece, “You know I buy and sell beautiful things, and all I am thinking now is: ‘I am a lucky man to get such a great deal.’” He praised without any holdbacks: “What a pity my wife and the whole world missed such a wonderful moment.”

The next moment, Ludo slid in with a finger and stretched him tenderly, while he arched his back ungratefully, trying to avoid the torture. “Shh, stay still.” His old classmate comforted him, and his other hand swept through his ribs almost like playing a harp. “I heard you don't eat much. I should have brought you a bite before drinking.” He sucked the sunken skin under Morse's lowest rib, his voice filled with sincere apologies and regrets.

Morse accepted his kindness in shivers.

His limbs were chilling. Violetta woke the other sleeping girls, and they continued to wake the other buried bodies. He bickered and parted with Thursday. Max and Jim were disappointed in him. Dr. Benford who was killed the next day because he did not follow up. George who couldn’t leave in peace because of him. Shirley leaving the police station crying from his mistake. Girl falling through the darkness at Blythe Mount Women's College. Bixby who was shot shortly after he left that night. Tommy Cork who was eating cheese and gherkin sandwiches only to be shot in the next money. Rosalind Stromming hanging in the interrogation room. All of this is his fault. Each heart, more or less sincere, was awkwardly crushed on the ground by he himself. He cannot learn to live as a nice, ordinary person, but was only gifted in abusing all the good intentions and expectations, hurting his friends and everyone who has treated him kindly along the way. He can either leave himself in the barren desert, or leave them in disappointment and cold death.

He struggled on the brim of hypoxia and suffocation. The survival instinct pulled him back again and again, but he still tried to blindly plunge into the grey sea.

Ludo became more aggressive in him. He lifted Morse's waist, and the heartbroken man was already left with no stamina to protest. Like a rag doll who sold his soul, he was held and placed on the lap of the only person would caress him. He sat obediently in Ludo’s embrace, leaning his body against the other man’s chest. He felt several soft kisses on his sideburns and forehead, and a pair of strong arms curbing him.

A successful person, always accompanied by music and beauties, surely lives with carefree happiness every day, and challenges the world with confidence.

When Ludo entered bluntly a few seconds later, he finally cried. Ludo pushed too deep, and he hadn't done it with a man for too long. Compared to the passing moment of gratification brought by careless men, the affection from women made him weep every night. In a split and broken second, he remembered Constance's grey grave, engraved with only the name and date. No photo or epitaph in remembrance, but her face always came back to him, and his first name the last word she left to the world. She left too early. He hated that he yearned she stayed a little longer, to be tortured in this filthy world just for his selfish wish. He should be happy for her extrication, but he could only drop tears in return.

Ludo took his hand sympathetically and wiped his face with his own sleeve. After several shrieks, his voice went muted, and was left sobbing silently. On the wobbling, convulsing wave, the cold clear liquid in his eyes was constantly spilled. People wearing his usual olive coat stood in front of the bed watching him in his hallucinations. Some of them wore crowns, others took shields and pulled out swords; some wore riding boots, some held axes, others carried flowers and babies; some had twisted ropes around their necks, and some with fresh blood on themselves; Dog-faced, wolf-eyed, bird-beaked, hissing with forked-tongue [2]. They looked at his useless self, watched him being held by the man who applauded him. Ludo was still in his black leather jacket and flashy shirt that he came in, his shoes securely on his feet; while he had nothing but a white shirt and tie, gripping the other's arm in the unbearable pain of having both his soul and his flesh torn in half.

[2] Illusion: One of the themes of Hermann Hesse's “Steppenwolf.” The male lead felt himself to be half-human and half-wolf, and was eventually taught that everyone has countless different personalities.

Ludo claimed him roughly, licking the scars on his body. Those were the hidden evidence of his incompetence. The tie was still knotted around his neck, but it was too tight and a red mark was made. Ludo grabbed the black cloth and twisted it around his hand. The detective choked and was made to bow his head, pulling on his chest injuries. He snuffled from the affliction. Ludo’s lips pressed on his, and he gave up resisting the offensive, opening his mouth obediently. The assaulting guest went all the way, brushing his palate and the back of his gum, curling and sucking on his tongue. He obediently submitted the air from his lungs until his vision went black at the edges.

Ludo's puppy eyes were blurry before him. The intruder feasted on the chaste no man’s land, running his fingers through Morse's sweaty hair.

“Violetta told you,” he let out a contented sigh and pounded in again, rewarded with two choked sobs, “I’m more afraid of losing you than losing her. That’s true.” He stopped and panted before he continued, “It’s just that her I have lost already, and you, I haven’t.”

“But, look, I think I take good care of you.” The wolf in sheep’s clothing said as he planted a constellation of love bites on him, “I can take you to concerts every day. Chambers, symphonies, operas; the best performers, orchestras, and singers. I can take you to Vienna, from street restaurants and churches all the way to the National Theatre. The best seats, tickets you can never afford. My wife almost tossed you out of my sight, but it doesn’t matter now. She’s on to her next prey, and I,” he mounted Morse’s shoulder and pressed him down, the martyr twitching helplessly, “If you are will come with me, neither of us will alone.”

Ludo’s voice was still so pure, “You thought Violetta was your Violetta [3], you thought she was your true love; but no, she was a Don Giovanni [4]. She was my weakness, but she left me and made me fearless. You have stepped into the same trap, Morse, but I am willing to hold out an olive branch for you.” He kissed his cheek and kissed those ocean-blue eyes. “You can be the pigeon that lands. ”

[3] La Traviata plot: The famed courtesan Violetta ignores Baron, her current lover, and falls in love with Alfredo, a bourgeois from a provincial family. Violetta later thought that she had affected Alfredo’s life and left in grief. Alfredo thought that Violetta no longer loved her, and after duelling with the Baron, he left the country to take refuge. When he returned, he saw the impoverished Violetta, who finally confessed her love shortly before dying.

[4] Don Giovanni: Don Juan, the famous legendary Spanish libertine, who was eventually dragged down to hell by the ghost of the murdered father. Mozart’s opera, Don Giovanni, was adapted from his story.

His luring words lingered in Morse’s drug-smothered brain.

Morse is still waiting for the sorrow to leave his stirred mind, and the deduction ability he once pride upon is no longer in his dictionary. Ludo place Morse back on the bed, shoving him over, turning him on his knees. His hands traced along the policeman’s tailbone and went around to touch his chest carelessly. Morse leaned back until there was no room between the two. Ludo bit his nape. Heavy and humid breaths spread over his shoulder.

What exited for a brief moment entered again. The wolf caught Morse’s arms, pulled them behind him and held it. He could barely support himself, and fell forward in his blackened vision, his head colliding with the wall in front. The shooting pain on the forehead and the dull pain in the chest are indistinguishable. Darkness enveloped him from behind, allowing a half minute break from the cruel reality. When he came back to consciousness, Ludo was fucking him against the wall. He couldn’t help but cough. He wanted to throw up, but he knew that he hadn’t had anything since the morning and nothing would come out. Emptiness was mixed with dejection and anguish, filling up his chest like a clot of feathers, sweat, and mud.

He felt like he was going to break. He hoped that God could dig out his entire rotten chest with an ice cream scoop, leaving a weak but clean new soul. He never believed in God when he grew up, but never before had he been so desperate for religion and faith, or a few tablets of sleeping pills and painkillers. He is a trembling, devout Quaker [5]. He wiped his tears and prayers on the wailing wall with his cheekbones and forehead. He greeted the inorganic brick wall with an opened heart. Ludo’s concerned voice sounded far away: “... you scared me, Morse, I hope you didn’t mean to ...”

[5] Quaker: Quaker, named after the early leader’s bade believers to “tremble at the word of the Lord.”

He wept silently. He will cleanse, he will repent, for his words of profanity and blasphemy; for his shameless adultery, his betrayal to his friend; for his cruel and scornful trampling of others’ kindness; for the lives lost from his mistakes; for everything he has done in the past thirty-two years, he will repent for his sins.

He heard the sound of blood surging through his ears, like the world’s end’s waves sweeping away mortal sin and sloth. Compared to the monstrous tides, his existence is so insignificant; and the benevolent Father said not one of the sparrow is forgotten. How can anyone feel abandoned?

Ludo finally came inside him. He wept at the moment of salvation.

**Author's Note:**

> Smoking, drinking, and drug use are harmful to your health, and they have a great negative impact on society and public order. Refuse smoking, drinking and use of drugs, protect your lungs, mouth, oesophagus, stomach, and brain. Drug abuse is illegal. Don't join the criminals who rape women with the use of drugs. Don't harm others, and protect yourself in public places.


End file.
